


Sevens Sins OF A Decimo

by ravenromance27



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Family Drama, Family Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenromance27/pseuds/ravenromance27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the seven deadly sins through the eyes and mind of one Vongola Decimo and the people that surround and populate his world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Superbia

**SUPERBIA**

* * *

 

_Pride_

**_"We are rarely proud when we are alone."_ **

_Voltaire_

* * *

 

_** Definition: It is identified as a desire to be more important or attractive than others, failing to acknowledge the good work of others ** _

* * *

Someone who had been mocked and taunted and generally turned into the school's joke wouldn't have the faintest modicum of pride left to spare for petty things and certainly the former Dame Tsuna understood this universal truth more than anyone else. Whenever people would ask what brought him joy and pride in the _famiglia,_ his answers were never quite what they expected. 

His pride, whatever amount he had inside him, was devoted in its entirety, to the preservation and well-being of his strange and decidedly eclectic _famiglia_. But unlike most people in his position, his pride wasn't rooted in the things that normally brought people fame or glory. Or even the things that he could claim were his to be proud of. He didn't care for the power his position and his centuries-old name carried-he cared only that his _famiglia_ is whole and safe and that he could offer them protection and a place to call their own. 

He didn't care for the might of the Vongola name, only that he now has the means to make sure that his family's name was now being slowly and carefully cleansed of the blood and sin it has carried for decades. 

He took no stock of the influence his family holds over the other _famiglias,_ caring only that with his alliance and their allegiance he could move quicker, save more, use less force and possibly change his world faster and without being reduced to force or violence. 

He didn't pay much attention to the politics and back stabbing in his world because he has chosen his guardians well and wasn't about to change any one of them for any of the usurpers who tried and still tries with wiles, lies and cunning to gain a toehold in his world. 

He has chosen them and for none of the usual reasons. Certainly not for their wealth, intelligence, influence or even connections. He didn't choose any of them for what they could bring to him but rather because they were the ones whose trust he has earned and kept. Whatever they may say about him, he could certainly hold his head high and say none of things that being Decimo brought him anything in way of having what traditionally consists of **_'pride'._**

Instead, Decimo takes pride in the fact that Fuuta finally finished college with honors and with relatively little intrusion from the underworld. He takes pride when the ranking prince took his Lightning guardian under his wing, taught the young boy how to read and dress and study and gave of himself freely every spare time he had. He takes pride in the little crybaby who grew up to be a reliable, trustworthy man who managed to remain sweet and innocent even amidst the turmoil that characterized their world. 

He takes pride in I-pin's decision to step out and away from the Famiglia to try and live a relatively normal life, free from the expectations and demands that would be made on her skills and talents as an assassin. He takes pride in her simplistic tastes and goals and in her perseverance in trying to make it through her school without any financial backing coming from him. He takes pride in her independence in trying to find work that supported her goals and dreams and gain her pride in herself in return. 

And takes pride every single time his sadistic, ruthless, lethal, god-complex-stricken mentor of a hitman gives him a little nod to indicate that he has done a good job.


	2. Luxuria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsunayoshi has no concept of lust. Too bad everyone else has.

**LUXURIA**

* * *

_Lust_

**_"The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it..._ **

**_And I can resist everything but temptation."_ **

_Oscar Wilde_

* * *

 

**_Definition: lechery (carnal "luxuria") is an intense desire._ **

* * *

 

The old Dame Tsuna wouldn't know charm if it bit him and presented him with an exorbitant bill. Suffice to say, what he sees as charm, most people would correctly know as slyness or cunning. The closest he has seen of the real thing, he could only attribute to Yamamoto's relentless and often disturbing friendliness and Sasagawa Kyoko's appeal.

It was therefore understandable that when Dame Tsuna became Decimo and learned that people talked about how charming he was, it was fair to say he didn't have a clue. Or to be more precise—you could present him with a video presentation, a detail thesis and a full-blown production number complete with puppets and he still wouldn't have the faintest understanding of what you're talking about.

He didn't have even the vaguest notion why Fuuta would break out his ranking book and I-pin has taken to pointing out to Kyoko and Haru whenever women would show him the barest fluttering of lashes. Or why many mafia mama's learned to be wary of Bianchi offering luncheon whenever the subject of Decimo's matrimonial prospects were being discussed.

He didn't have the faintest idea of what a trial it was for his two best friends and guardians to keep away dons, both young and old from taking unfair advantage of their very own oblivious and all too-sweet Decimo. He didn't wonder about the fact that his Storm Guardian, Italian lineage and mafia birthright notwithstanding, never once encouraged him to get used to the custom of exchanging brief kisses on the cheek, curtailing anyone who made an attempt with the judicious and at times forceful display of his dynamite.

He certainly didn't think much about the fact that his Rain Guardian would casually unsheathe his katana whenever the handshakes lingered far beyond the norm of common courtesy. Or the mocking grin that would paint his Mist's lips whenever the brushes of fingers and palms along his pale wrist and arms occurred more frequently when he did have chance to expose them.

He certainly never thought to wonder why his Sun and Lightning guardians would take to growling at meetings that segued into late dinners and the arguments that would usually break out when the question of who sat next to him erupts. Or why regardless of the weather or even the country they attended, Reborn insisted that he wore a complete 3-piece suit with the addendum that under no circumstance was he to loosen even a single button on his shirt, smile more than once or stare too deeply or too long at anyone, regardless of gender or age.

It certainly never crossed his mind that the reason his taciturn Cloud Guardian had to be summoned abruptly into service after the mansion's security team called in for immediate back up was because he decided to sunbathe in his own pool side wearing nothing but shades and simple linen pants.


	3. Gula

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunger that lingers in the hearts of men often brings out more of the animal within than any other instinct of man.

**GULA**

* * *

 

_Gluttony_

**_"Virtue is a habit of the mind, consistent with nature and moderation and reason."_ **

_Marcus Tullius Cicero_

* * *

 

_**Definition: Derived from the Latin gluttire, meaning to gulp down or swallow, gluttony (Latin, gula) is the over-indulgence and over-consumption of anything to the point of waste.** _

* * *

Living in excess was a foreign concept to someone who was raised in genteel middle class. He never really knew what disparity and degradation hunger for power and wealth could create until he met his Famiglia and was properly introduced to their world. Only then did he understand what it means to hunger.

The darkest depths of the mafia is a living, thriving mindless being that hungers and craves everything that the world offers. A world that battles and betrays in a thousand different ways and through a million faces and facades in order to have everything they ever sought.

It is here in this world that he has learned of organizations so powerful and wealthy that they no longer think twice about turning a child—a helpless little baby girl into a killing machine. They pay no heed that a child will grow up thinking that human life is nothing more than a target—a goal to be accomplished and dealt with in the most expeditious manner possible. That in their world a child could be born and raised not knowing what being a child means—one who instead of being bathed in perfume and roses, dressed in silk and dreams bathes in blood of her kills and wears the entrails of those who life she claimed like a proud banner.

It is here—in the dark corner of the Underworld he understood that there are people so consumed with the need for power and control that they would chase after a child who had nothing and no one all over the world in order to manipulate and exploit a talent he didn't ask to be born with. Of people who didn't care who they had to trample, kill or attack in order to gain just the slightest bit more advantage, just the right sort of leverage provided by a child who has lost everything—his home, his family, his freedom.

Only here has he encountered the kind of hunger for clout and control that is fueled by heedless wealth that permitted the Bovino famiglia to send their children out into the world carrying caches of weapons, not even caring that they were children who should be playing with toys not things that could scar them for life or take that fragile gift away so easily.

It is only in this foul, decaying oubliette of their dark world that has he learned the truth of how the pursuit all-consuming hunger for supremacy and affluence could allow the deranged heads of the Estraneo Famiglia to reduce children bearing their own blood to nothing more than lab rats to exploit and experiment on. The kind of hunger for power that blinded everyone to the dubious intents and practices of men who had forgotten what it means to be human. The kind of deprivation that resulted in the madness and anguish that festers in the hearts of his Mist and his own little famiglia as they scrounged and scoured for sustenance in the decrepit, dilapidated ruins of the only place they could call their own.


	4. Avaritia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decimo celebrates in the many episodes of his greed.

**AVARITIA**

* * *

 

_Greed_

**_Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live;_ **

**_It is asking others to live as one wishes to live._ **

_Oscar Wilde_

* * *

Definition: Greed (Latin, avaritia), also known as avarice or covetousness, a sin of excess. Applied to a very excessive or rapacious desire and pursuit of material possessions

* * *

_Dame-Tsuna. Sawada Tsunayoshi. Vongola Famiglia Decimo_ has never been greedy for anything in his life. Being at the bottom list of everyone and standing at the outskirts of everything since kindergarten, he has long learned how to make do with what little lot he had in life. Anyone else in position would have rebelled or at least made some token resistance regarding his unfortunate circumstance but the truth was he didn't have the heart to cause anyone any harm. Never mind what they did to him—it wasn't in him to retaliate.

And so he made do. With the lack of respect, expectation or even regard. He accepted it as his rightful due for being 'No-good'. It wasn't until he had inherited the role of Decimo that he learned that he had inside of him a streak of unmistakable capacity for greediness. 

He was greedy for the carefree laughter and giggles his mother would let out whenever any of his 'adopted' family would do something amusing or unusual. Greedy for the evidence of joy that made her eyes brighter than he'd ever seen them before. Greedy for the ready smile that tugs at the corner of her lips whenever he would come home with his friends trailing behind him. Greedy for all the times sadness lies absent from her gaze and the memory of her husband's absence no longer haunts her. 

He was greedy for the enthusiasm and liveliness that Haru brings with her…greedy for her sometimes reckless gestures and even more earnest beliefs in his goodness and his ability to do what is right that acts like a living personification of his conscience—reminding him that she would always be there to stand as guard and sentinel to his morals and actions. 

He was greedy for the boundless bliss that one smile from Sasagawa Kyoko brought to him every day. Greedy for the hope that blooms deep in his heart whenever he received one of her smiles, her laugh. Greedy for the times she would speak calmly to him, soothing his fears and offering succor in a world that becomes too riotous for even the most stalwart of hearts. Greedy for the future he sometimes couldn't help but imagine whenever she was close enough to touch. 

He was greedy for the rare times when his Storm would calm his fiery temper, his overzealous devotion and his insistence on his role as right-hand man and play the piano. He finds that he is selfish and greedy for every note, every sonata, nocturne and concerto he would graciously perform whenever time and occasion allowed for it. He is greedy for every minute that his Storm's tempestuous winds grow gentle and tranquil, calming those around him with the trills and lilts he coaxes from his chosen instrument, greedy for the sight of those elegant hands flowing and floating through ivory keys with the same delicacy and skill he had no choice but demonstrate using a far more unforgiving medium. Greedy for the times when his Storm offers shelter from the chaos that surrounds them all.

He is greedy for the times when Yamamoto plays his favorite game with joyous abandon. When his Rain immerses himself in the sport that celebrates his God-given skills and all his talents for the entire world to see, admire and appreciate. Greedy for all the days when his rain could just be another boy playing a game that other boys throughout the ages had played—just another boy obsessed with the game that consists of nothing more sinister than a ball, a bat and field to run into. Greedy for the times when his gentle Rain did not involve himself in things that had to do with their shadowy world. Greedy for the times when his Rain's beautiful dark eyes maintained their purity, their sparkle and their playful mischievousness. Greedy for all the times when the sharpness in his piercing gaze was absent. 

He was greedy for his Sun's boundless enthusiasm and determination to live life to the fullest. Greedy of all the times when his Sun's laughter, cheer and sheer presence would light up the room, pumping them all with hope and belief that everything could be accomplished as long as you worked hard enough for it. Greedy for his purity and innocence even in the midst of the darkness that pervades their world. Greedy for the warmth of his Sun's conviction that he was a man worth being followed and that his famiglia was worth saving. Greedy for the strength of his Sun's courage to remain true and valiant and always with honor. 

He was greedy for his Lightning's tears and laughter and dependence. Greedy enough to wish time would stop so that he could hoard all the hours and all the days when he could keep this loud, cranky, demanding, rambunctious boy who invaded in his life safe and free from the demands and expectations of their world. Greedy for the chances and opportunities he could fashion for him so that this child he considers part-son and part-brother could grow up in a world no longer bathed in blood. Greedy for his Lightning to remain a child to him and for him just a little bit longer. 

He was greedy for his Mists—male and female alike—acceptance. Greedy for the times when he could support them and help them heal. Greedy for the times when Mukuro would still playfully and mockingly announce that he was biding his time before he possess' his body. Greedy for Chromes soft hesitant voice speaking out and telling him about her day or how she was. Greedy for the times when Mukuro's eyes would light up—not in mischief or derision—but simple joy at the sight of his band of merry men forgetting their damaged pasts. Greedy for the trusting warmth of Chrome's hand when she would reach out for his arm whenever old fears and shyness would take a hold of her heart. Greedy for the moments when his Mists would allow themselves to be brought into his home, his keeping…partaking of meals in his presence, allowing him to see them as they truly were, as he truly was.

He was greedy for his Cloud's rare smiles and even rarer shows of approval. Greedy for the look of acceptance that he seldom casts in anyone's way—unless he deems them worthy of praise. Greedy for the times when his taciturn Cloud would be persuaded to join in his quests and his quiet missions. Greedy for the words—no matter their content—that passes from thin lips so used to being kept firmly in line. Greedy for the sound of his voice relaxed and teasing, so used was he to its usual tenor of issuing threats and commands and ultimatums. Greedy for the simple joy of sitting next to his drifting Cloud whenever the man allows himself to be caught for just one more minute, one second longer, one moment more. 

But he has learned that he was especially greedy for the sight of his family warm and safe and untroubled. For that sight and truth alone, Decimo would admit that he should be allowed to be greedy.


	5. Socordia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inaction sometimes can be the most painful choice of all.

**SOCORDIA**

* * *

  
_Sloth_

  
**_"Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure,_ **

**_t_ ** **_han to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much,_ **

**_because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat."_ **

― _Theodore Roosevelt, Strenuous Life_

* * *

_**Definition:** It has been defined as a failure to do things that one should do or inaction when pursuing acceptable actions._

* * *

  
He knows full well that he is a failure. In the eyes of the kids who were with him in school, he has earned—rightfully so—the sobriquet of being _**No Good.**_

  
And so, he never resented the nickname they bestowed upon him. No…not him. More than anyone else—he knew he deserved it because he never did anything that could be considered good, let alone good enough. Not in any aspect that school, indeed, society would accept. His grades were dismal, his athleticism was practically nonexistent. He was not wealthy, privileged, smart or charming. He has no redeeming value of any kind. He has no saving grace. He was in their eyes, for a very long time, an undeniable failure.

  
And he has no reason or desire to correct them. He failed to correct their illusions of his uselessness because it's the most effective cover he had. He failed because he never wanted to try and disabuse them of whatever image they had of him. It was better to be known as 'No Good' than be relegated into the slot of obliviousness, into the path of invisibility. He was no good but at least he was seen, acknowledged even with such a demeaning label but recognized just the same.

  
For Dame Tsuna there was no greater humiliation, no greater fear than the reality of being forgotten, of being ignored, of being not seen. And so he endured. The endless days of mocking laughter, the constant teasing and insults, the rounds of ribbing jokes and painful jabs from people around him—convinced that somehow it was a far more tolerable path than fading into nothing.

* * *

  
He knows that he is a failure as a son. He never lived up to the potential his mother yearned for him to have and he accepted it because he knows something even she won't accept if she knew he thought of it.

  
He failed to save her from her isolation until it was too late. He failed to be good enough to stop her eyes from filling with tears whenever the loneliness and anguish became too much for her to bear and hide from prying eyes. He failed to warm her whenever the chill of his father's missing presence and warmth reminded her that she has had to make do with a clumsy child who couldn't support her during those times when she wanted to yield to weakness. He failed to bring a smile on her lips whenever she would gaze down at him and see a pale imitation, a poor reminder of the man she misses reflected back to through a pair of lambent russet that could never match the original.

  
He failed to be the child she could be proud of, failing her expectations and her pride—burdened as she was with a child that was still so much a clumsy, fearful child despite his age. He failed to make her see that he didn't try because he couldn't leave her even more alone than she already was. He failed to make her understand that he didn't want to grow up too quickly because it would only remind her of the passage of time when they only had each other. He failed to make her feel his regard for her feelings and that the reason he never mentioned her tears was so that she wouldn't see his.

  
For Dame Tsuna there was no greater sense of failure than the reality that he failed to be enough for _ **her**_ —enough to fill the gaping hole inside her heart that was made when his father left.

* * *

  
He was knows that he was a failure of a boss and heir. He could never fill in the shoes that Primo wished for him—he couldn't live up to the expectation and promise that waited four centuries to be fulfilled. He had to be dragged into the future using his past self because he made a mess of things the first time around.

  
He failed his famiglia and allowed them to be torn apart and rendered powerless. He spit on the legacy left to him by the men of his _famiglia_ when he decided that the rings he was entrusted with were better off being destroyed because he never believed in having too much power residing in a single _famiglia's_ hand.

  
He allowed the people precious to him to suffer and be crushed by fear and anguish. He allowed them to feel anger and grief when one by one the people he called friends lost someone important to them because of his inaction.

  
He allowed his gentle Rain's bright eyes to dull in pain and regret at the loss of his father. He allowed his brilliant Sun's spirit to dim when he had to be separated from his one love just to keep her safe. He allowed his precious Mists to lose their freedom and be locked away once more, failing to keep his promise to protect them from all harm. He allowed his playful Lightning to lose his innocence as he was shown over and over again, in dozen scenarios and never-ending frequency the many ways he failed and betrayed and died on him, traumatizing him with frustration and guilt. He allowed his Cloud to lie to his fellows, swallow his pride and honor and hide a secret that wasn't his to keep, allowed him to feel powerless as he walked straight into the arms of death. He allowed his fiercely protective Storm's heart and soul wither in bitter torment while he stood there and listened to the news that death claimed the only man he wanted to save.

  
For Dame Tsuna there was no more painful failure than knowing that when push came to shove he failed the one man who believed in him the most. That he failed to bring honor to his tutor by failing his famiglia and all those that relied on him. He failed the man that entrusted him the future by falling— _even as a pretense_ —under an assassin's bullet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that I haven't updated this piece in forever and I admit that it's my fault entirely. Well, me and life in general. But the thing is, I don't really write until the words come—I can't force it for some reason and so when it comes creeping back—or crashing back—whatever the reason, I simply yield to it. It's better for everyone concerned, believe me.
> 
> There are only two more sins and I'm waiting for inspiration to strike regarding how I should treat them. As always I am ever grateful for the faithful who continue on reading. For new readers, welcome and I hope you will find some enjoyment in my work.


	6. Invidia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his heart, if nowhere else, he admits knowing sin.

**INVIDIA**

* * *

  
_Envy_

  
_J **ealousy is always born with love, but does not always die with it.**_

_~François Duc de La Rochefoucauld, Maxims_

* * *

  
_**Definition**_ : _It is similar to jealousy in that they both feel discontent towards someone's traits, status, abilities, or rewards._

* * *

If Tsunayoshi could openly admit to committing any discernible sin it would've been the sin of jealousy. It is a mark in his soul—one that he has had the hardest time to reconcile with precisely because he has learned the hard way that coveting something never brought anyone any good. He was never a person that entertained jealousy except in rare fleeting cases when one's personality or skill reminded him painfully of his own dismal lack.

  
Though if one should ask what it was that one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the world covets, one would not have expected the answers he would've given them.  
For Tsunayoshi Sawada, Vongola Decimo and one-time Dame-Tsuna-the things he covets are the things few would even take notice.

* * *

  
Tsuna envies his Storms dedication, finding it baffling at times because he has never believed himself worthy of the selfless devotion that Hayato's has shown him in a hundred different ways ever since meeting him. He is jealous of Hayato's steadfast belief because there are days when he wanders through the halls of the Vongola mansion at night, haunted by the decisions he has had to make, allowing doubt to assail him and trouble his heart until his faithful Storm reprimands him for staying up late. He envies Hayato's conviction that he would always do what's best and it makes it hard for him not to do exactly that because failing would no doubt disappoint his Storm and that is something he would never do.

He envies his Rain because in Takeshi he sees what he will never be—cool, confident, charismatic and charmingly amiable. His rain's easygoing nature reminded him of the lack of confidence that debilitated him from a very early age. Takeshi is like rain itself—flowing unimpeded and undeniable, at ease with himself in every other situation that he finds himself in. Embodied in Takeshi is the serenity he seldom finds in himself when confronting another decision, a new contact, another battle and he could only stand in awe as Takeshi gives him one of his easy grins as his Rain pulls his hand and leads him towards a new adventure, a new friend…always moving, always forward.

  
Tsuna envies his Sun's optimism and the care and protectiveness he feels and displays so openly for his sister. Envies the strength of Ryohei's will—his faith that his fists and his spirit would never waver, never falter as long as it is for a cause he truly believes in. He's jealous of his Sun's courage—in facing every fight with an open mind, accepting everyone around him—be it friend or foe—no matter how eccentric, eclectic or scary they may appear to be. Envies the fact that he wakes every single day determined to live out each hour and enjoy each moment like it's his very last. And when Ryohei comes and showers him with his extremes just before they go into battle, slinging his arm—heavy, corded in muscle and damp with sweat—around his shoulders—for some reason Tsuna never feels ** _braver._**

  
He is jealous of his Cloud because in him, Tsuna sees everything that he lacks—self-possession, strength—pride. In Hibari Kyouya is every virtue he wished for years to possess—full and complete command of himself and those around him. Confronted with the taciturn man, Tsuna struggles with the feeling of inadequacy and tries to imagine what it's like to live without fear. And yet, whenever the stoic, herbivore-calling, eternal guardian deity of Namimori deigns to join him in his causes—whenever that cold, soft monotone spoke—to reproach or insult—which is practically the same—all that Tsuna could ever remember feeling is not affront or offense. Whenever his reluctant Cloud wonders close enough to touch—all Tsuna could ever recall is feeling **_free._**

  
He envies Lambo his obliviousness—his blindness to limits, to obstacles, to what is reasonable or even rational. Lambo challenges Reborn with nothing but blind faith in his weapons and his skills…never really taking into consideration how improbable his chances were or how unskilled he was in comparison to his target. He is jealous of Lambo's convictions in pursuing the impossible because for as long as he has known the boy—that word has never meant anything to him. For Tsuna, Lambo reminds him of what it is like to challenge something, to dream no matter what everyone says, no matter how low the odds because somehow, somewhere—there exists a way.

  
He envies even the secretive, convoluted mindset of his inexplicable, eccentric Mist. Mukuro had every reason to hate and hate he did—completely and utterly—but he never succumbed to the darkness that hate created. Despite his hatred and his anger, despite his less-than-ideal past and even more tenuous future at the time—he still had enough humanity to reach out and extend a hand towards a dying, damaged young girl discarded by her own flesh and blood—giving her a means to survive, giving her a reason to live. He envies Mukuro's audacity in securing a future—not just for himself but for others who are just as damaged as he is and do it in his own way, by his own hands. He envies his Mist for taking risks in spite of being hurt, burned and betrayed for so long, for so many times, by so many people. He envies Mukuro's ability to believe—to trust someone again on the strength of a promise. More than anything Tsuna envies Mukuro's ability to heal, to thrive, to stand up and try again no matter how many times life has let him down. Maybe that's the reason whenever he sees both his Mists, he remembers what it feels like to _**hope**_


	7. Ira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The seven times wrath came into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I have acknowledge time and time again every single time I wrote for this fandom, K*H*R belongs to the genius that is Akira Amano-Sensei. But whatever shenanigans I managed to place his characters in—well, that madness I claim sole responsibility for.  
> This story was born out of the idea that the members of the Underworld are doubtlessly viewed as being Sinners. It's also inspired by that vial of blood good ol' Talbot had with him during one of the manga's more memorable chapters. I didn't really know when i started this, that it would take me years to finish. February 12, 2013 was when it was first published. Like many other works I did for this series-it was a moment of impulse when I began it. Now, two years after, it is finally done.  
> It took me a long time to write for this piece because as I may have mentioned before—I try to never force the words to come. It's ultimately for the best since if I try and force them out, inevitably I end u with writers block and that's a pain in the ass, I tell you. It's what I laughingly call a "Labor of Love". It takes labor to make but you do it out of love. Still, though this story may not be as popular as my others, it is still very special to me because it opened up a whole lot of introspective imaginings—the kind I enjoy unfortunately. I've always like the idea of writing without the use of dialogues. It's more intimate that way, I suppose.  
> Well, here's to hoping I can work on the others as well.There's that. And here, is my final SIN. Thank you. *bows*

**IRA**

* * *

_Wrath_

**_Anybody can become angry – that is easy, but to be angry with the right person_ **   
**_and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way –_ **   
**_that is not within everybody's power and is not easy._ **

_Aristotle_

* * *

_**Definition:** Wrath, in its purest form, presents with self-destructiveness, violence, and hate _

* * *

Sawada Tsunayoshi has many fine qualities. He also has a host of questionable, objectionable ones. Those that know him best would tell you that his finer virtues overwhelm to a sufficient degree whatever inadequacy he displays—overt, obvious or otherwise. But the one thing that they would agree on—whether in a positive or negative light—was the fact that Tsuna seldom, if ever allows himself to be angry.

Truth be told, Sawada Tsunayoshi is hardly ever angry.

Not because he can't feel the urge to be but because he more than anyone else understood that anger has a time and place in the grand scheme of life. It was a lesson—hard-earned and learned through the years—but it was one he understood very well.

* * *

There were to date, only seven times Tsuna remembers wrath coming in contact with his life. In a lifetime surrounded by the threat and reality of wrath—it's little wonder that people find his admission surprising. What should've surprised them more was the fact that he remembers quite clearly each and every single contact with the emotion people called wrath.

**_The first time was when discovered it._ **   
**_The second time was when he felt it._ **   
**_The third time was when he recognized it._ **   
**_The fourth time was when he understood it._ **   
**_The fifth time was when he yearned for it._ **   
**_The sixth time was when he despised himself because of it._ **   
**_The seventh time was when he finally gave himself to it._ **

* * *

**The first time wrath came into his life he saw his mother's tears.**

That's when he realized the number of times he has witnessed her doing that—giving in to her loneliness, crying over his father's constant absence. That's the first time he knew of wrath and discovered its alluring, consuming kiss. Wrath held him immobile—silent and still—helpless as a newborn—unable to give aid to the woman who has been with him for as long as he could remember but he could feel the seductive call of it—asking him to give in, to let it fester inside him so that it could burn away the pain the sense of betrayal brought to mind, the disappointment and the confusion thrumming through his veins. He could recall clearly the cold, cloying feel of it lingering inside him, tainting his senses until acid seemed to burn through him.

The first time he knew of wrath he tried desperately to run away from it—clinging to obliviousness in the hopes that he wouldn't further mitigate the pain in his mother's gaze. The first time he knew of wrath he buried the truth of it inside him—not even allowing the vaguest sense of pain every time she would mention that man's name to come to the fore. Wrath was something he never wanted to feel—especially towards someone his mother cherished. And so even as his anger registered, he buried it under the vague blanket of unease and disappointment, assuring himself that he will never give in to its seductive, poisoned appeal.

* * *

**The second time wrath came into his life was when he was awarded the label of No-Good.**

  
That's the first time he actually felt wrath—felt its reality—watching helpless and trembling as he stood there on receiving end of a fist that came out of nowhere, knocking him back until he landed on his back on the dirt, disoriented and dizzy not just from the pain but from the disbelief and vague sense of loss. Bullying was something he had too intimate a relationship for him to ever allow himself to give in to anger. Bullying, after all, is just the manifestation of buried hurts and unspoken anger. Even at his earliest age he knew that much about wrath and so he was never prey to it. But he has never felt it so palpably before and now that he has—he could never—would never—forget it. That day, he didn't just gain a humiliating sobriquet—worse of all the things done to him was the loss of his innocence, his faith that things could be better—that he could be better if he just stood up for himself more.

The first time he felt wrath's unforgiving heat was also the first time he had stood up to the bullies who always took his things. And though it would take nearly a decade before he would do it again—he never really truly forgot that day. The pain and fear that lodged in him was like an unknown thorn that rips at you when you unheedingly plunge your hands through a rose bouquet, believing yourself safe—only to find out that safety was an illusion. He felt it was when he watched all those kids and teachers stand there silent and uncaring as others bullied him, branding him with a name that would take him two decades to walk away from and a lifetime to truly forget.

* * *

**The third time wrath came into his life was when he stood in the middle of the woods as a sweet, innocent boy tried to convince him to leave so that he could remain safe.**

  
The first time he recognized wrath was when he stood in front of a young frightened boy with empty eyes telling him that he should walk away because he was where he wanted him to be, thanking him for his compassion in allowing the boy to stay at his home, and saying that he was no longer in danger, watching as hope faded from those clouded, despairing russet eyes so like his own.

Watching those eyes become so lifeless and blank burned something fierce and protective inside of him even as his heart clenched with the icy hand of hopelessness that for a moment he lost in a sea of frustrated confusion and helplessness. For the first time in his young life Sawada Tsunayoshi allowed anger to linger in his mind long enough to acknowledge what it was and what it did to him. For the first time since he knew what anger was he allowed it space inside his heart and mind and just hated with a passion compounded by fear that he was too late— _far too late to finally save anyone—_ least of all a young boy who never should've learned how to live in fear just because of his abilities, his gifts. Maybe that's the reason he fought Lancia without hesitation despite the man's frightening appearance. Maybe that's the reason he walked into the abandoned, dilapidated halls of Kokuyo Land without giving in to his usual terrified, cowardly self as he prepared to face an escaped criminal who made the monumental mistake of taking someone that's _his_.

* * *

**The fourth time wrath came into his life was when he listened to the stories of his Mists.**

  
He never doubted that men could be pushed beyond their limits—beyond what was right and moral and just—one only needed the right trigger—the right motivation and he would cross all sorts of barriers, all restrictions, all kinds of ethical codes. He understood that much if nothing else because somehow, somewhere deep inside him, he knows that he could just as easily be pushed into it if he allowed himself to give in to hate. Being bullied for as long as he had, there was no way he would remain innocent of hate. The difference was how people dealt with the hate that lingers inside of them. He knows it takes all of his energy to cool his, but it was a price he was all too willing to pay. He couldn't afford to do otherwise.

But that's because he also knew in his heart that such push-such drive to enact vengeance the way Mukuro did required the kind of hatred he couldn't possess. It was the kind that burned long and hard and deep. The kind that demanded payment—not just in terms of the flesh or of the mind, or even the heart—no, the kind of hatred that burned away everything demanded one's very soul.

He finally understood the ghosts that haunted and lingered in Mukuro's eyes—the reason and justification he clung to so that he could withstand ripping away everything of value in Lancia's life and use him as a puppet without remorse or regret—turning a man's life upside down and not be troubled by it, as unscrupulous and cruel as it seemed—to not hesitate as he cut a swat among his enemies even as he used someone innocent and blameless to do it. He even understood why Mukuro sold his soul to the very devil for his powers and why he willingly embraced the memories he gained as he walked every path of death known. Knew and finally understood that it was because whatever it that was done to him—to them and by extension, even to Chrome—all that would ever alleviate it in Mukuro's mind and soul was wrath. For the first time in his life, he understood what salvation there can be had in wrath.

* * *

**The fifth time wrath came into his life he stood powerless as a child that called to his soul sacrificed herself to give him a chance for a better future.**

  
The first time he needed wrath was when he saw Yuni willingly, willfully chose death over safety—gifting him with the promise of hope with those ethereal, fathomless blue eyes even as she walked towards certain demise, wrapped in the arms of the man that loved her beyond measure, choosing to sacrifice her life for the greater good—embracing her death with a smile and very few tears as she gave everything of herself to combat the kind of evil that spanned many, many worlds.

He yearned for wrath there and then—yearned and wanted and wished for the fullest measure of wrath in its purest, undiluted form because he knew even his anguish, his frustration, his tears, his despair—his broken, weeping heart just wouldn't be enough to feed the kind of flame hot enough to change the course of Fate—to right all the wrongs that Byakuran has wrought during his campaign of terror. He desired the kind of wrath that will not just sustain, but strengthen his flames, guaranteeing it will continued conflagration because his normal flames just wasn't strong enough to get the point across and avenge Yuni and compensate for the future she will no longer have.

He allowed wrath to burn inside him so that he could possess the kind of flame that will never be forgotten—the kind that will sear the memory of in the mind of a man that wanted to play god and never ever make him forget. The kind of flame that will pay for the future Byakuran that stole, the worlds he destroyed and the lives he trampled on. He needed wrath to hold his heart steady because otherwise anguish would consume him and he would have nothing else to return to.

* * *

**The sixth time wrath came into his life he listened to the steady cadence of a heart monitor that reassured him that the body he was watching was still alive even as his eyes burned at the sight of the battered bloodied body of his fallen Rain.**

  
For the first time wrath in his life, wrath didn't burn like an eternal blaze but rather wrapped him in an unforgiving frozen embrace and he despaired because of it. Its presence in his life brought him to his knees, tears of shame trailing down his face even as bowed beside the cold, clammy hand of a boy too young to be fighting for his life because he was in the wrong place , with the wrong person who had no compunction harming him because of a centuries-old grudge.

For the first time in his life Sawada Tsunayoshi despised his family's disgraceful legacy, humiliated by his family's bloodied, dishonored past because only its presence in both his and Enma's life could've wrought such devastating blow, marking them to be enemies—tainting their lives and their choices, their future ten lifetimes before either one of them even drew breath.

For the first time he despised wrath the way he did when he was caught inside Mirai Hibari's Sphere facing all those that came before bearing the name and mantle of Vongola. Hearing the endless wails and anguish of those whose blood were spilt and whose lives were stained and scarred by the Vongola name echoed all around him , deafening him to little else, scorching his mind, branding his soul until all he could do was add his own screams to the cacophony playing around him like some macabre, unforgiving symphony.

For the first time he remembered wanting wrath even as he choked at the bilious bitter taint of it on his tongue—wanted it even as he despaired because what he was learning about his name and the blood flowing in his veins deserved the kind of wrath that would burn off everything else—every taint of Sin that clung to his very name, his very soul. He wanted to find the strength that would wipe clean every soiled, ruined thing that the Vongola stood for so that he could start anew—so that he, like his guardians, like Enma, like every and any child bearing a famiglia's blood could start to atone for nearly 400 years of grief, pain and misery paid for with blood and cruelty. He despised wrath even as he yearned for it right at that moment because he needed its cleansing flame to make things in his world right again.

* * *

**The seventh time wrath came into his life was when he needed it to pay back the debt he owed to the man who gave him everything.**

  
The first time he gave in freely to wrath he felt no regret, no pity, and no shame. The first time he yielded fully to the full and complete measure and power of what wrath could do when combined with his flames was when Kawahira or Joker threatened to steal away the man who gave him everything—his friends, his purpose, his place in the world. The first time he welcomed wrath into his very being, he could recall vividly not its unrestricted power, not even its consuming nature or its seductive possessive allure. All that he could remember when he finally allowed all that he was to embrace all that was in wrath was the sense of purpose the flames of His wrath brought to him. He welcomed wrath then, embracing it with open arms and eyes wide-open to the reality of what it would take from him and what it would be giving him in return.

Sawada Tsunayoshi allowed himself only one instance to yield to wrath. To change the way the world works. To right the wrongs on those that were carelessly, callously used and then discarded as if they didn't matter. To free seven hearts from a fate none of them wanted. To give his mentor the gift of a life without chains, without expectations, without sins to be paid for. The first time Sawada Tsunayoshi, former Dame-Tsuna, current Vongola Decimo allowed himself to give in to wrath—he did it with a clear, unflinching, lambent gaze and a soft, easy smile on his lips.


End file.
